


The night breeze carries something sweet

by ohmybgosh



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Because i can’t come up with titles organically, Truth or Dare, firs love / late spring by mitski is the song!, general party things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: Billy and Steve play truth or dare at a graduation party
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65
Collections: harringrove for BLM





	The night breeze carries something sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avalonlights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonlights/gifts).



> Thank you thank you thank you for being patient and being a part of this and asking me to write this prompt for you <33

The music blared from the living room speakers and Billy winced as he passed by, not at the volume that threatened to burst his eardrums but at the amount of people jostling each other, dancing and drinking and laughing, edging dangerously close to an expensive looking pair amplifier and speakers balanced precariously on the marble fireplace mantle. With a red solo cup in each hand, Billy raised one for the sound system, and sent out a silent prayer for the stupid homeowner’s sake they’d make it through the night. He wasn’t entirely sure whose house this was - some girl in his graduating class with a hyphenated name, Mary-Beth, Sarah-Lee, Katherine-Elizabeth. But those speakers, which looked like the newest model and would put them out at about five thousand bucks for the whole system, dear  _ God,  _ looked like a well-to-do father’s wet dream. Which meant, in Billy’s personal experience, though his father preferred old shotguns that reminded him fondly of his time in Vietnam, that those speakers meant a hell of a lot more to Dear Old Dad than what’s-her-face. 

Someone’s elbow slammed into the middle of his back, sending the drinks sloshing onto his hand. He whirled, brows knitting together and teeth bared in his customary snarl, but all he caught was a giggling “Whoops! My bad!” And the elbow, along with the rest of the culprit, disappeared into the crowd. 

_ Steve, Steve _ , he reminded himself, a bit drunk as they’d been here awhile now, and gripped both cups tightly, edging through the crowd. If he spilled a drink of course Steve would get the full cup. But that would mean Billy would have to make the perilous journey through the house and back to the kitchen again, and he was already kind of annoyed at the amount of people here that kept knocking into him, and touching Steve like the reason he wore a t-shirt was so drunk people could fondle his biceps. 

He fought his way through the dining room, down the back hallway, and down the basement stairs, where a burly looking guy was vomiting into what looked like a paint can, while his friends patted him sympathetically on the back. Billy zigzagged through the basement, breezing by some heavy petting on a sunken couch in the corner, and pausing for a moment to admire the freckled girl he thought he recognized from the Hawkins High Band, who was schooling a disgruntled looking guy at beer pong. 

Smiling, he made his way towards the back door, propped open by a pile of bricks, where a full moon and a cloudless sky spilled in, and the party-goers needing fresh air or rallying their friends spilled out onto the lawn. 

He edged through the door, breathing a sigh of relief at the first breath of air that didn’t smell like sweat and alcohol, and hurried to where he’d left Steve, lounging in the grass by a fire. A handful of theater kids had dragged a metal trash can outside, and set about determinedly collecting kindling from the woods at the edge of the property. Billy had been happy enough to watch them with amusement but Steve leapt up and darted after them, which made Billy grin like an idiot and also wonder vaguely if something in the punch was caffeinated. 

The theater kids were an interesting crew; Bobby and Angie, a couple who never let go of each other’s hands; Where’s Waldo, a wiry kid with glasses whose real name no one seemed to know or else desire to divulge; and “Dustpan” Dave, who tried to tell Billy and Steve how he got his nickname but kept laughing halfway through a tale involving getting lost during opening night behind a particularly intricate set of  _ Man of La Mancha  _ and having to hide until intermission. 

Steve was right where Billy left him. He was smiling, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, and the firelight flickering from the trash can made his skin glow. Billy stumbled for a moment, his breath catching painfully in his chest, his stomach doing that soaring thing that feels like the panic when you miss a step on the stairs and for a wild minute you think the floor is too far away from your feet.

“Harrington,” he called hoarsely. 

Steve looked up, eyes glassy, and his smile widened. Billy’s heart skipped a beat and he crossed the distance between them, dropping to sit in the grass beside Steve, their knees brushing. 

He passed a cup over. 

“Thanks,” Steve murmured, taking a sip, pulling a face after. 

“Where’d they go?” Billy asked, looking around. 

Dustpan Dave was lying in the grass several feet away, curled on his side, apparently asleep, Angie’s sweater a makeshift pillow beneath his curly hair. 

“He’s ok, I checked,” Steve said. “Bobby and Angie went into the woods, I think they’re having sex.”

“Where’s - Where’s Waldo?”

Steve shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Huh.” Billy sipped his drink. It did taste quite terrible, worsening as the night wore on and whoever was making it got more creative as supplies dwindled. At first it tasted like fruit punch and several different kinds of rum, and someone had felt fancy enough to put frozen berries in the bowl. Now, though, it had a odd bubbly tang, almost like Dr. Pepper, and Billy could still taste a bit of fruit punch but it seemed like the rum was gone and the bottom shelf vodka and last dregs of boxed wine had made an appearance. 

“Hey, truth or dare?” 

Billy grinned at him. “Mmmmmm, dare.”

Steve thought for a minute, tossing the blade of grass into the fire. “Ok...chug the rest of your drink.”

“You bastard.”

“You can always tap out.”

“Absolutely not.” 

Squaring his shoulders, he lifted the plastic rim to his lips. He shuddered. “Can I at least plug my nose?”

“Yes.” 

“Bottoms up,” he said, pinching his nostrils closed, shutting his eyes tight, and chugging the lukewarm whatever-it-was. 

Immediately, it threatened to come back up, but he could think of nothing more embarrassing than to vomit in front of Steve so he swallowed hard, steeled his expression, and set the empty cup in the grass. 

Steve gaped at him. “How’d that taste?”

“Like shit. My turn.” He rubbed his hand together. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Steve said after a moment of contemplation. 

“Hmmmm. Ooh, who’s the hottest guy in school?”

Steve snorted. “Am I allowed to pick myself?”

“No.”

“Fine, you are.”

Billy grinned at him. “Aww, thanks.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him, but smiled, his cheeks tinged pink. 

“Truth or dare?” Steve asked. 

“Truth.”

Steve looked at the ground, picking up another blade of grass and tying it carefully in a knot, biting his lip. “Are you staying in Hawkins after the summer?”

Billy blinked, caught off guard. Steve wasn’t looking at him, seemingly focused on tying a tiny bow out of the blade of grass, but his shoulders were tense.

“I, um, haven’t thought about it,” he said truthfully. “I guess I’ll just go wherever makes me happy.”

“What makes you happy?” Steve asked, voice sounding too far away though he was close enough for Billy to reach out and kiss him. 

Billy, swallowed, eyes prickling uncomfortably, and he pressed one hand between Steve’s rigid shoulder blades. “I like being with you.”

Steve glanced at him. Billy felt Steve’s shoulders relax under his palm, and Steve leaned into his touch.

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” Billy nodded. He suddenly wished very much to not be talking about this, because the thought of the summer; of graduation, new beginnings, the possibility that Steve’s path would lead somewhere he didn’t want Billy to follow was too much to think about. 

“It’s your turn,” he said instead.

“Ok, dare.”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

Steve snorted. “That’s not a very good dare.”

Billy bristled, pretending to look offended. “Yeah? The hottest guy in school isn’t good enough for Steve Harrington?”

“Shut up.” Steve punched his shoulder lightly. “I mean, I was going to kiss you anyway.”

“All talk and no game, Harrington.”

“Shut up,  _ Jesus _ ,” Steve laughed, and gripped Billy’s shirt tight with both hands, pulling Billy to him and kissing him with that goofy grin still on his face. 

Everything was good about Steve. Even the things that frustrated Billy were good, like Steve’s uncertainty in himself and always apologizing for feeling inadequate in stupid things that didn’t even matter like remembering what time Billy was picking him up or needing Billy to explain things to him he didn’t understand or getting good grades. Even when Steve did that drifting off thing, growing uncharacteristically quiet, staring at something without actually seeing it, his mind slipping into a space Billy couldn’t reach. Even when certain things scared Steve and he wouldn’t tell Billy why, like a deep pool, darkness where you couldn’t see the other side, sounds with no source, or abruptly flashing lights. All of it, all the facets of Steve were good, but the best and potentially most frustrating thing was the way Steve kissed him. 

Kisses from Steve Harrington were like ice cold water on a blistering hot day, so welcome and wonderful that you drank it up too fast and gave yourself a brain freeze. And Billy would freeze under Steve’s touch, Steve’s lips so red and plump, his tongue that knew exactly what to do, his fingers smoothing all down the back of Billy’s neck and over his shoulders and down his arms, pressing into his skin expertly as if entering some secret code that made Billy’s brain short-circuit. 

Steve pulled away after a moment, licked his lips, and reached up to tuck a piece of Billy’s hair behind his ear. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he murmured, fingers trailing down the shell of Billy’s ear, ghosting along his jaw, then coming to a rest to cup the back of his neck. 

Billy blinked. He shook his head slightly, feeling dizzy, and thought briefly that it’d be nice to dunk his head in cold water to sober up, though less from the alcohol and more from the presence of Steve. 

“Just… looking.” He shrugged. 

Steve smiled, then it turned into a yawn, and he stretched, t-shirt coming up to reveal a peek at his soft freckled stomach. It made sense to Billy now, why everyone tended to touch Steve when they talked to him. But he still didn’t like it. 

“I’m sleepy,” Steve sighed. 

He curled up in the grass, resting his head on Billy’s lap, nuzzling his cheek into Billy’s thigh and sighing contentedly. Billy swallowed thickly, feeling like his heart was swelling so much in his chest it was making it difficult to breathe. His eyes filled with tears (he blamed it on the ash from the fire). 

He pushed his fingers through Steve’s thick, soft hair. 

“We shouldn’t drive home,” Steve yawned. 

“No,” Billy agreed. 

“Will you get in trouble? If you don’t come home?”

“Nah.” He would, likely, but he didn’t care, not now. He couldn’t, not when Steve turned his head slightly to look up at him, blinking those ridiculously thick lashes, the dim firelight from the bottom of the garbage can flickering in his doe brown eyes, smiling sleepily up at him. 

Bobby and Angie returned then, emerging from the trees looking rumpled and pink-faced and smiling at each other with sickening sweetness. Billy smirked at them for a second and then remembered he and Steve probably looked the same moments ago. 

“Grabbed these from my car,” Angie whispered, a bundle of blankets in her arms.

Bobby buckled his belt, giving Billy a sheepish grin. Angie carried the blankets, depositing one beside Billy and Steve, and gently laying one over Dustpan, before smoothing out a third several feet away and sitting cross legged atop it, beckoning Bobby over. The fourth and final blanket she placed next to her, glancing around questioningly, before shrugging and lying down. Bobby followed suit. 

“Thanks,” Steve murmured. 

He yawned again. Billy prodded him and he sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes. Billy laid out the blanket in the grass and took Steve’s hand, guiding him over, and he lay down, pulling Billy beside him and pressing his forehead into Billy’s chest. He draped one arm over Billy’s waist, sliding a hand down his hip and hooking his thumb in Billy’s belt loop. His other hand still held Billy’s tightly, arms bent awkwardly between their chests, in a way that would definitely ache in the morning, but at present Billy was too content to care. 

Something with quiet footfalls traveled through the trees, twigs snapped underfoot that were barely distinguishable over the sound of laughter and music carrying across the lawn from the house. 

Billy wrapped his free arm around Steve protectively, who was already snoring softly against his sternum, his breath hot against Billy’s skin. 

The footsteps drew nearer. Billy curled his fist, gripping the back of Steve’s t-shirt and pulling him closer. He raised his head slightly, squinting in the dark.

A figure emerged from the trees, dark and lanky, with eyes that glowed - 

They stepped closer, dropping down into the dewy grass beside Bobby and Angie who were curled together and fast asleep, and raised a hand in greeting to Billy, the dimming fire reflecting against round wireframe glasses.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Billy sighed. 

“Sorry.” Where’s Waldo took the last blanket and laid down to sleep. 

Billy loosened his grip on Steve, relaxing and letting his eyelids flutter closed. He smiled to himself; he was almost as on-edge as Steve, who jumped at mysterious noises and didn’t trust the woods at night. Billy would laugh and assure him there was nothing going on in this sleepy little town. 

He pressed his face into Steve’s hair, which smelled like smoke and a hint of hairspray, comforting and familiar, and he soon drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
